


Happy Birthday

by Jheselbraum



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11797971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jheselbraum/pseuds/Jheselbraum
Summary: It's Stan and Ford's birthday, their first together in decades.A birthday gift for tumblr user mathes0n, that I wrote and posted on tumblr about a year ago that I'm FINALLY getting around to posting on here as a backup.





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the journal's release date, as such I got the stan's birthday wrong. I just want to get this posted so I probably won't be fixing it for a while.

Rules weren’t held in high regard at the Mystery Shack.

There were rules, of course, like “no outside food or drink” and “no refunds” and “you break it you buy it” but those were for the customers to the tacky gift shop. In general, the actual residents were given free reign of the house, except for one golden rule (that for various reasons, was never _actually_ referred to as _golden_ ):

_If Stanford falls asleep, you must not wake him up. He will awaken on his own accord, simply mind your own business until then. Don’t disturb him._

This hadn’t been much of a problem for Stanley to follow when he was living on the Stan O War II with Ford. It was easy enough to man the small research vessel for a few hours on his own, and thankfully nothing had attacked them that would require the rule to be broken.

Today, however, Stanley and Ford were not out braving the ocean waves. Today was the first Monday of spring break for Dipper and Mabel, which meant a small trip to Gravity Falls for the week, and there was no way in hell Stanley and Ford were going to miss it. They’d sailed doubletime to make it, but they arrived in Gravity Falls on Saturday morning without a hitch.

Gravity Falls painted itself a vibrant green in the springtime, wild flowers and fairy fruit alike growing along the sides of the road. Misty mornings and blood rain weren’t uncommon, but with Fiddleford and Stanford coordinating from across the ocean, the townsfolk were learning to cope with the town’s weirder aspects again, after thirty years of routinely forgetting they existed.

Stan smiled to himself as he crept into his brother’s room, intent on breaking the one household rule, just for today. He held a small gift behind his back, wrapped in discount Christmas paper and covered in more tape than ribbon. “Stanford,” He said, quietly, his voice just above a whisper. He paused, waiting for Ford to stir. It didn’t take much to wake him, but a loud enough noise was enough to send him into a panic upon waking.

“Ford,” He repeated, a little louder this time. Ford stirred, groaning at waking up early, blinking his eyes against the morning sun, but once he caught sight of Stanley he snapped to his feet. He’d slept in his clothes, and his coat billowed out behind him as he fumbled for a weapon.

“What’s going on?! Is something attacking the boat–”

“No squid monsters this time around, Poindexter.” Stan smiled, thrusting the gift into Ford’s hands. “Happy birthday, Ford!”

Ford blinked, reminding himself that he was on dry land with no sea creature for miles, and studied the package in his hands. It was soft, Stan hadn’t bothered to put it in a box beforehand, and he felt the wrapping paper give slightly beneath the pressure of his fingers. He slowly unwrapped the gift, discarding the paper on the floor, and pulled out a long sleeved sweater dress. “Stanley…”

“Mabel taught me, and sent me some videos on how to do it, but I figured hey, my nerdy bro wants to wear a dress I’m not gonna stop him.” Stan said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. The dress was a long, deep burgundy that covered Ford’s arms and came down to his knees. The yarn was thick and bulky and the neck had been made too long, but Ford ran his hand over the knit pattern (an oddly stitched 38 sided die) with a soft smile on his face, and Stan knew that he’d gotten Ford the perfect gift.

“Thank you, Stanley.” Ford said, beaming as he set the dress aside. “I’ll try it on in a few minutes, for right now you should open up your present.” He said, pulling a small box from his coat pocket and presenting it to Stan.

Stan slowly took the box in his hands. It wasn’t that he was _disappointed_ that his present was so small.

No, Stanley was afraid the small box would contain something paranormal in nature that would try to _eat him_.

“Alright, let’s see what weird thing you drummed up this time.” Stan said, playfully rolling his eyes as he unwrapped the box. Ford had chosen simple brown butcher paper to wrap it with, but he’d drawn small waves along the edges, a looming mountainscape, a glimpse of a sunrise from the sea. Stan dug his thumb underneath the tape, wanting to save the wrapping paper and put it in the shoebox of photographs he’d taken to keeping after Weirdmaggedon ( _no it was not a journal_ , he insisted, but it felt like one all the same) just in case. Stan flipped open the cardboard box and tossed the lid to the side. “…A key?”

“Not just any key, a specially designed skeleton key that can open any lock in this dimension. Even the electronic ones.” Ford said, beaming. “Dipper gave me the idea. Just make sure you use it responsibly.”

“Holy shit.” Stan said, holding up the tiny golden key. It was heavier than it looked, but Stan’s eyes gleamed as his mind flipped through the  _possibilities_. “Thanks, Ford–”

“That’s… not all…” Ford said, quietly, reaching into the small suitcase and pulling out what appeared to be a picture frame. “I just wanted you to have a tangible present, in case you didn’t like this one.”

“Ford… what?”

Ford took a deep breath, slowly turning around the frame so Stanley could see: it was a graphite drawing of Stanley fighting a kraken against the Arctic waves. The drawing was intensely detailed, Stan could make out droplets of rain on his coat, the spray of sea foam. Ford must have worked for hours on it. Maybe days, or even weeks.  _That’s probably what he was doing while I was hiding from him to knit._ Stan smiled, touched by the gesture more than any skeleton key in the world.

“I just didn’t want you to be disappointed, but I was thinking you might have wanted to decorate the Stan O War II a bit and–”

“Ford, are you kiddin’? This is amazing!” Stan said, taking the picture so he could examine it more closely. “Thanks, for both of ‘em. You worked really hard on these.”

“Actually, the key is modified from an existing technology that, by Dipper’s estimation, dates back to the 18th century, possibly earlier, that was nearly lost to history, a government conspiracy, and peanut brittle.” Ford said, absentmindedly gesturing to the key. “And you clearly spent a lot of time making that dress– I can’t thank you enough.” Ford said, smiling at his brother. “Happy birthday, Stanley.”

“Happy birthday, Ford.” Stan said, wrapping Ford in a hug.

Just like that, it felt like they were kids again, teenagers with their whole lives ahead of them, like the forty years of resentment and, later, heartache hadn’t happened. Ford settled into the hug, holding Stan tight and allowing himself the small bit of relaxation, of peace. Dipper and Mabel were insistent on throwing them a party (“We’re twins, we know how to throw the best ones” they’d said), but this moment? Stanley and Ford made up for forty years of missed birthdays, cramming them all in one short morning. They agreed to spend the morning alone, catching up on lost time in peace, before going out and spending the day with the rest of their family.

Stan laughed as he ruffled Ford’s hair, letting some of Glass Shard Beach’s happier memories wash over him. It had been decades since he’d acknowledged his birthday, since he celebrated with his brother, since they’d participated in their old, time honored traditions.

For a while they stayed like that, talking, laughing, practically joined at the hip, but eventually Mabel came bouncing into the room to get her grunkles into the kitchen for pancakes, pulling Stan and Ford by the hand, telling them all about her and Dipper’s plans for their birthday, marveling at Stan’s new drawing and Ford’s dress.

Dipper stood in the kitchen, impatiently staring down the toaster and tapping his fingers against a box of frozen pancakes. “Happy birthday, guys!” Dipper said, perking up when Mabel led their grunkles into the kitchen. “I was gonna try to make pancakes from scratch but I don’t know how to do that, so I made the frozen kind instead.” He said, holding out a plate of pancakes for his grunkles. “I can only make two at a time, though.”

Ford chuckled, taking the plate from Dipper and ruffling his hair. “That’s alright, my boy. I’m sure they taste great.”

Dipper smiled as two more pancakes popped out of the toaster. “Good because I plan on making you guys the whole box to start out with.”

“And I’ve got the whipped cream, strawberries, butter, and syrup to go with them!” Mabel said, pulling out the toppings. “This is going to be your best birthday ever, wait until Fiddleford gets here with Multibear, and Tate, and Soos and Melody, and Wendy!” She exclaimed.

“And we all got you the best presents ever.” Dipper said, nodding his head. “But I think you’re going to like  _our_  present the best.”

“We got you a— _mff_!” Mabel’s voice was muffled by the back of Dipper’s hand.

“ _Mabel_.” Dipper said. “It’s a  _surprise_.”

“Oh. Right.” Mabel said, grinning evilly as she took two boxes out from under the table. “SURPRISE!”

Ford and Stan gave each other a quick glance, before taking their respective presents and tearing into the wrapping, more than eager to see what the kids got them.

They had both received a beautiful, hand decorated and customized journal. Ford’s was the same size as his previous journals, albeit the new one came with extra pages and didn’t have a number on the hand symbol, while Stan’s had larger paper, perfect for scrapbooking with plenty of extra space to write photo captions in the margins. His was the same deep red as Ford’s, but with a golden ship’s wheel glued to the front cover.

Mabel and Dipper both watched in anticipation, hoping their hard work would make their Grunkles happy.

Ford flipped through his journal’s blank pages, taking a deep breath and relaxing with the weight of the book in his arms. “It has that new book smell…” He said, quietly, in awe.

Stan couldn’t help the wide grin on his face as he examined his blank book, taking note of the binder like pages and the space to add more. “Wow kids, did you make these yourselves?”

Mabel nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Yep! I cut out the symbols though, Dipper kept getting the wheel wrong.”

“Hey! It was my idea to add the extra pages  _and_ I made the covers.” Dipper pouted. “…Do you guys like them?”

“We love them!” Ford remarked. “You two were so thoughtful and creative,  _thank you_.”

“This is great, kids!” Stan said, smiling and tousling Mabel’s hair. “And hey, I know what I’m gonna put in here first!” He added, carefully pulling Ford’s small doodles from his pocket.

“Stan, no, those are just sketches I made because butcher paper is boring!” Ford’s face flushed. “Don’t you dare put that in your scrapbook–”

“Too late!” Stan yelled, sticking the paper into his journal for safe keeping. “Uh…. any of you kids got some glue for your Grunkle Stan?”

Mabel pulled a jar of paste out of her sweater’s pocket, the whole thing coated in half dried glue. “You never know when you’ll need it, Grunkle Stan, you should carry some on you.”

“Nah, I haven’t touched the stuff since I stopped eating it in grade school.” Stan said, with a wave of his hand.

“I seem to distinctly recall you using some to glue our sophomore year English teacher to her own chair.” Ford smirked.

“… _Touche_.” Stan said, narrowing his eyes.

“Dudes!” Soos burst through the door, Melody and Fiddleford in tow. “Happy birthday!”

“Fiddleford” Ford exclaimed, beaming and running up to scoop his boyfriend in his arms. “You made it!”

“Course I did, darlin’!” Fiddleford wrapped his spindly arms around Ford’s neck, balancing on his shoulders. “Wouldn’t miss this fer the whole world!”

“Dr. Pines, you look so fantastic!” Soos said, in awe, marvelling at Ford’s dress.

“Huh? Uh, t-thank you…” Ford stammered, scratching the back of his head.

“I didn’t know you were into Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, Dr. Pines.” Melody beamed. “Maybe you should come FCLORPing with Soos and I sometime.”

“Here, Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper tugged at Ford’s dress, holding out a plate of freshly toasted pancakes. “Try some, I think there’s some maple syrup on the table, too.”

“What was that?” Ford asked, softly.

“This is gonna be your best birthday  _ever_ , grunkles!” Mabel exclaimed, flashing a toothy smile towards Ford.

Ford couldn’t help as his head snapped back thirty years prior, to 1982, to the last time he’d celebrated his birthday.

To Bill.

He’d stopped celebrating his birthday after Stanley was kicked out, it was too painful of a reminder, of what happened, of the bitter sting of betrayal. In college, the day came and went like any other, with Fiddleford bringing a small present to a listless Ford and leaving it by his bedside.

Until Bill showed up.

Bill showed up and life was great, filled with dreams of space and exploration and new worlds and  _you’re working for everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Sixer, you’re going places, finding new worlds, traveling where no human has gone before! Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?_

_Don’t you deserve a break on your weird human birthday?_

The last birthday Ford celebrated had been filled to the brim with encouragement, with praise, with what appeared to be genuine friendship and affection. It was filled with  _here’s to another trip around Sol, Sixer, and oh man, new work gloves, you’ve been wanting those for a while, and cheer up, Fordsy, go have some cake, forget about the portal, this day is for you!_ And Bill hadn’t possessed him that day, Bill confined himself to the recesses of Ford’s mind, a small voice reassuring him whenever Ford threatened to retreat back to his room to sulk for the rest of the day. And it was all  _lies, lies, **lies** , _and now here he was, thirty years later and his throat was closing up as a fire burned in his lungs, smoke choking out any trace of life, of tranquility of peace and Ford didn’t register dropping Fiddleford and inching away from the crowd– no, from his  _family_  not some random crowd of people,  _calm down, Fordsy, relax and enjoy the **party**. _ Ford dug his nails into the palm of his hand, his fingers slipping on sweat as he searched his family’s faces for a hint of truth, anything to tell him that he wasn’t being manipulated  _again_ and used  _again_ and he couldn’t take it  _again,_ not from  _them,_ and everyone was being so  _nice_ but  _could he really trust it? Trust anyone?_

He blinked, and for a second he was back in the Fearamid, trying desperately to latch onto a positive memory while white hot electricity burned against his skin.

He blinked again, and his feet were carrying him towards the small bedroom in the back of the Shack, his trembling fist latched around Fiddleford’s wrist as he paced around the room.

“Ford, are you alright?” Fiddleford’s voice seemed far away, too quiet against the ringing laughter in Ford’s ears.

“I’m–” Ford released Fiddleford’s hand, reciting the prime numbers in his head, trying to keep himself grounded, finding no solace in math and turning to listing the rules to Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons instead. “I’m not– I just–”

Fiddleford smiled gently, more beard than tooth, and took Ford’s hand. “Try an’ take a deep breath. What can I do to help?”

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat as he fought to keep calm, to maintain control, to not jerk his hand away from the touch, but not lean into it either. “…I know it’s my first birthday with Stanley again, and I should be happy.” He started. “But everyone out there is just r-reminding me of  _Bill_  and the  _last_ birthday I celebrated!” The screaming dichotomy between fear and love in Ford’s head made a decision, and he pulled his hand away, turning his back on Fiddleford. “Just… I just need to be left alone for a while, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never wanna talk about it.” Fiddleford sighed. “Ford, please, bottlin’ this stuff up isn’t healthy! Not bein’ able to enjoy yer birthday cause of what he did ain’t healthy. You gotta talk to someone about this.”

“There’s no one to talk to,” Ford muttered, his fists trembling.  _No one would understand, no one would know, no one would keep it a secret, they’d just use it against me, trust **no one**._

“You can talk to  _me_! You can  _trust_ me!” Fiddleford pleaded.

Ford’s back snapped up, ramrod straight, as he whipped around to face Fiddleford. “That’s exactly what  ** _he_** said and look what happened!” He screamed, eyes wide in terror and anger, his face red.

“For Pete’s sake, Ford, I’m not him!” Fiddleford said. “None of us are  _him_ , nobody out there is gonna hurt you!”

“ _I’m not him_?” Ford’s voice was dark, a twinge of loneliness and betrayal marred the corners of his speech. “ _I’m not him, I’m not going to hurt you_?  **He** said that, Fiddleford.” Ford clenched his teeth, throwing his voice into an annoyingly high pitch. “ _ **I’m not like him** , Fordsy, I won’t betray you like your brother did! I won’t use you like your father! You can trust me_!” Ford stared at his hands, clenching them into fists. “And I  _couldn’t_ trust him, he did betray me he  _did_ use me for his own gain! And  _now_ everyone is acting the  _same way Bill did_ the last time we were– the last time I celebrated my birthday, and– And it’s nothing more than a nonstop cycle. Why would you be any different? Why– Why would  _they_ be any different?”

Fiddleford blinked, taking a deep breath, and slowly reached out for Ford’s hand. “Darlin’… we faced the apocalypse together. We all care about you,  _I_  care about you. We just want you to be okay, and we understand if you can’t trust us right away.” He said, slowly, keeping his voice even. “We all know what it’s like to… to not want to get hurt again.” He murmured as he laced his five fingers between Ford’s six. “Yer not alone, not anymore at least.” He whispered, frowning when Ford turned his head away, though he at least gave Fiddleford’s hand a soft, trembling squeeze.

“…I just… can’t trust that you and the family don’t have ulterior motives.”  _That **anyone** doesn’t have an ulterior motive_. “Genuine kindness is a luxury I haven’t known for quite some time…” Ford’s voice was soft, barely audible. He still refused to look at Fiddleford.

Taking a soft, deep breath, Fiddleford reached up to kiss Ford on the cheek. “It’s alright, darlin’. I understand. What Bill did to you wasn’t right, an’ we’re never gonna do  _that_  to you, but I  _understand._ ”

Ford opened up a little, then, slowly leaning against Fiddleford. “He was… he seemed so nice, I fell for his flattery, for his tricks. I fell for it hook line and sinker, and it was all one big  _lie_.” Ford’s voice was trembling.

“It’s gonna be alright.” Fiddleford said, softly, wrapping his arms around Ford.

“Everything he said to or about me was a damn lie…” Ford mumbled. “A lie I was foolish enough to trust, to think for even a second that it might be true… I felt like I was chosen for something, like someone could actually stand to be around me, but it was all a  _lie_. And a convincing one, so  _now_  I can’t trust that someone’s not lying  _again._ I want to be wrong, I want you to prove me wrong, but I don’t know if you  _can_.”

“I can.” Fiddleford said, a firm resolve in his twangy voice. “I can an’ I will.” He pulled Ford closer to him, giving him another kiss on the cheek. “Stanford Pines, you are so loved and so good, and you didn’t deserve what that varmint did to ya. An’ I ain’t lying when I say that, either. That’s a promise.”

“…You always did pride yourself on honesty…” Ford mumbled, leaning in closer to Fiddleford’s hug.

“I love you, Ford, an’ I always will, an’ Stanley and Dipper and Mabel and Soos all love you, too.” Fiddleford said, giving Ford another kiss. “We’d never do anythin’ to hurt you. An’ that’s a fact. You’re gonna make it through this, an’ we’re gonna be here for ya every step of the way.”

Ford blinked a few stray tears from his eyes and returned Fiddleford’s hug full force, burying his face in the crook of Fiddleford’s neck, beard hairs brushing against the skin on Ford’s cheek.

“Thank you.” Ford whispered, his voice muffled by Fiddleford’s shoulder. “…I love you, too.”


End file.
